Cou. You are
Of all your sex the poorest emptiest trifle,
And one with whome tis most impossible
I ere should change Affection; theres nothing
To invite me too't, not so much as that
Wee call a seeming reason, upon which
All Love is built, seeming, I say, not it,
My understanding Ladie.
Sis. You thinke I am very dull that you expound
Your witt thus, but it needes no Comentator,
Not by the Author, tis so very plaine;
But to despise me most of all the sexe
Is something oversaid. Though I affect
No flattery, I hate uncivill Language.
You do not meane to quarrell, now you have
Betraid me to the feilds, and beat me, Sir?
Cou. What is there in your face more to attract mee
Then that Red Cowes complexion? Why the Divell
Do you thinke I should dote upon your person?
That thing when she is stroak'd gives milke.
Sis. By that
I understand all this revenge, because
You thinke I did neglect you. Pray, sir, tell me,
And tell me seriouslie, put the Case that I
Should love you now, could not you love agen?
Cou. In troth I thinke I could not.
Sis. You do but thinke.
Cou. Nay, ile bind it with an oath before the parish, And when I have given my reasons, too, the Clarke Shall praise me fort and say Amen.
Sis. What reasons?
Cou. I shall be very loath
To say your eyes are twinckling Starres agen,
Your lipps twin cherries and out blush the rubie,
Your azure veines vye beauty with the Saphire
Or that your swelling breasts are hills of Ivory,
Pillowes for Jove to rest his amorous head,
When my owne Conscience tells me that Bunhill
Is worth a hundred on 'em, and but Higate
Compar'd with 'em is Paradice. I thanke you;
Ile not be vext and squeez'd about a rime
Or in a verse that's blanke, as I must be,
Whine love unto[268] a tune.
Sis. This all your feare?